


kingdom come (closest to heaven)

by iamremy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Codependent Winchesters (Supernatural), Gen, Slice of Life, Written for the Seasons Anthology, the Winchesters take a break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 07:45:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15681063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/iamremy
Summary: This, Dean thinks, is the kind of memory that heavens are made of.





	kingdom come (closest to heaven)

**Author's Note:**

> i'm quite late with this, considering i'd written it ages ago, for the [spn seasons anthology](http://spnshortstories.tumblr.com/). it was such an honor to be a part of this project, and i enjoyed writing this so much. the proceeds went to charity and ao3, which is _amazing_ , and not just that - but the feeling of seeing my work, my name in print? unbelievable, i may have screamed/cried a little. i feel a little high every time i think about it, to be honest.
> 
> specials thanks to the people who put this project together. you guys are _awesome_ , and i'm so proud that you're part of this fandom.
> 
> if anyone wants the anthology, you can head over to the link above! it should still be available for purchase, i think.

They find a beach. It's great. Sam loves it, starts smiling wide the moment he sees it. Dean's happy too, until he sits down and gets sand in every orifice. He complains and complains, and Sam laughs and laughs.

"You are enjoying this far too much," Dean accuses Sam, rubbing sunscreen lotion into his back and resisting the urge to tickle him.

"It's funny," insists Sam, not looking up from his book. "It's a beach, Dean. Of course there will be sand."

"It's in my _ass_!" Dean bursts out, his hands pausing on Sam's shoulder blades. "I have sand in my ass, Sam!"

Sam's laughter begins anew, and Dean hits him on the back of the head with the bottle of lotion.

* * *

It feels unreal, all of it – the beach, the sun and sky, the waves, the children running around shouting and playing, even the blanket they're sitting on. There's a surreal quality to the whole thing that keeps taking Dean by surprise even when he thinks he's used to it. This little vacation feels like it's something they should not be allowed to have, yet here they are.

God knows they deserve it, though.

He inhales, taking in the sea salt on the air, and looks down at Sam, who's catching a nap stretched out on the blanket, open book upside down on his chest. There is sand in his hair, and Dean snorts. See how funny Sammy finds it when he's shampooing it out for _days_.

Dean considers napping as well, then decides not to. It's a beautiful day, and he wants to savor every minute that he can. He takes a moment to ensure that Sam is covered by the umbrella they've appropriated and planted themselves under, and then gets up to go for a walk.

The water is cool and soothing on his skin as he steps in it, just at the edge. The sun is on his face, the wind in his hair, and for the first time in a long time Dean feels like maybe he wouldn't mind it so much if time stopped and he could stay here forever with Sam.

* * *

They stay to watch the sunset every day; the sky is orange and it's purple and it's pink and it's yellow, and the sea looks like it's on fire as it reflects the myriad of colors. If Dean were the kind of person who took a lot of pictures, he'd have captured this on his cell phone camera. Next to him, Sam does take a few pictures, but Dean just wants to let the moment go on, uninterrupted.

There aren't many people around now; most of the families have packed up and left, leaving litter and half-ruined sandcastles in their wake. It's just a few teenagers hanging around drinking beer and smoking around small campfires, and Sam and Dean.

"I want to stay here forever," Sam admits quietly, and Dean turns to look at him.

When the sun hits Sam's hair just right, it looks like he's made of gold, pure and fiery and unbeatable. Dean is not the kind of person who takes a lot of pictures, but he takes one anyway, not making any effort to be discreet.

"Dude!" Sam laughs, self-conscious.

"Not a word," Dean warns, putting his phone away. "And me too," he adds, quieter.

This, he thinks, is the kind of memory that heavens are made of.

* * *

They barely spend any time at their motel; they're at the beach first thing in the morning and they leave late at night, when neither can keep their eyes open. On their sixth night here, Sam falls asleep at the beach, content and sun-warmed, and Dean thinks _fuck it_ , they can camp here one night.

So he fetches some extra blankets from the Impala, checks the cooler to make sure they have enough water and beer for a while, and settles in next to Sam. He watches the stars above until he can't keep awake any longer, and drifts off to the sound of the ocean and Sam's deep breathing.

* * *

It's still dark when Dean wakes up, the stars blinking down at them in a background of velvet night. Sam is awake too, just quietly gazing up at the sky, but he turns his head when he hears Dean shift. "You didn't wake me up," he says.

Dean sits up, shrugs. "Figured there's no harm in camping here one night," he says with a yawn, looking down at his brother. "I've always wanted to camp on the beach."

"It's nice," Sam says. "Look, there's the North Star."

"Nerd," Dean says at once.

"Shut up."

There's no sleeping after that; Dean feels wide awake, alone with his brother under the stars. It feels like they're the only people in the whole world.

"I thought you hated sand," Sam says presently.

"I do hate sand," Dean answers.

"Yet you don't mind spending the night here."

"I can compromise, okay." He reaches for the cooler, gets two beers, opens them and hands one to Sam, who sits up to accept it. "Here."

"It's the middle of the night, Dean," Sam argues, but takes the beer anyway.

"Attaboy," Dean says approvingly when Sam takes a sip. "Time is a social construct, Sammy."

Sam laughs. He's been doing that a lot this past week. "That's deep," he teases. "Where did you read that?"

"Fuck off, I'm smart," Dean says, cuffing Sam in the back of the head. "And besides, it _is_ , okay. Think about it. We would not have a concept of time without clocks."

"It's too early for this," groans Sam, running a hand through his hair. Then, "And you call _me_ a nerd."

"You _are_ a nerd," Dean informs him.

"So are you, apparently."

They reach a ceasefire. The sky is beginning to lighten to a soft bruised purple, the stars slowly getting drowned out by streaks of orange on the horizon. The ocean is hushed and gentle, waves breaking quietly against the shore. Sam's shoulder is warm against Dean's.

This is heaven, he thinks suddenly. It has to be.

* * *

They find a hunt two days after that, and both of them are sad to leave. "We'll come back," Sam says, and looks like he's trying to assure himself as much as Dean.

"Yeah, we will," Dean promises. It would be a shame not to.

They ride off at dawn, leaving the beach and wind and waves behind, and Dean is already planning a return trip.

**Author's Note:**

> this is actually the second story i wrote for this project. i liked both but ended up submitting this one, i felt it was more fitting with the theme i'd been given, which was summer. i might put the other one up too, perhaps.
> 
> probably.
> 
> anyway, let me know what you guys thought! i love hearing from all of you.
> 
> love,  
> remy x


End file.
